Chasing Mistress Steph

Disclaimer: Although this isn't a BDSM story in the strictest sense, it does include graphic depictions of such content, particularly female domination and fetish. If such content is disturbing to you, then you might not want to proceed.

*****

-1-

Alexandr Krivstov stared out from his balcony as the setting sun turned the sky a brilliant shade of orange. Through the haze, the smokestacks of the chemical plant were framed in black, and the setting sun turned the clouds billowing out of the stacks a vivid pink as it started to set over the Oka River. Alex coughed, lit a cigarette, and let the view sink in, enjoying the moment. There weren't many perfect moments in Dzerzhinsk, but in this hardscrabble existence, you enjoyed them when they came and you savored them. He quickly finished his cigarette and lit another one, as he let out another rasping cough. That which don't kill you, only make you stronger; wasn't that how the saying goes? Who had come up with that? Some American rapper, or maybe it was some old timey philosopher he had read about once; who knows, but it made sense. In this town it didn't matter if you smoked or not. If the tobacco didn't get you then just breathing the air would. Alex worked with plenty of non-smokers who hacked worse than he did.

Inside the apartment, the TV was on. Valeriy was propped in front of it, watching the hockey game. Cherepovets was duking it out (sometimes literally) with Moscow Dynamo, and Alex didn't really follow either team, although Valeriy seemed enthralled by it. Although as Alex assumed, his son probably wasn't quite old enough to follow what was happening on the ice. He probably just saw a bunch of guys skating around smashing into each other. But two year olds absorb so much, and learn so fast. Alex was proud of his son every day. It had been exciting to see him learn to talk, and do new things; just a few months ago he had learned to walk, and now was a rambunctious bundle of energy who ran around the apartment nearly non-stop until he exhausted himself. As a relatively new father, Alex never ceased to be amazed.

Ludmila was not yet home from work. She had probably stopped off to buy groceries or something. Alex was thinking he probably should have let her have the car today, but it was his turn to pick up Valeriy from daycare after all, and she had not said anything. They had only one car between them, an aging 90's vintage Tavria subcompact; a "Classic Vintage Ukrainian automobile" as he liked to joke. Just then, a roar came from the aging color-tube TV set. Dynamo had just scored. Valeriy started running around the room, waving his arms, perhaps pretending to be one of the players skating around on the ice. Alex hoped to teach him to skate for real in a couple years. He couldn't wait for the day when he could buy his son his first pair of skates. Maybe his son would grow up to be a hockey star one day, Alex thought wistfully.

Ludmila worked in the I.T. department at the Sintez plant as a computer network specialist, something she had been trained for at one of those private technical schools. You know, the ones they are always advertising on TV: "Real Training for the Real World! Find your future TODAY!" It really wasn't that great of a job, actually. While Alex was just a basic factory grunt, she was supposedly "white collar", but yet they both had almost the same salary. Her job consisted of sitting indoors in a windowless box of an office all day, running diagnostics on the computer equipment while her boss drank himself senseless ("executive privilege," he called it) and invariably fell asleep at his desk each and every afternoon. At least someone took their job seriously, she said, although when she said it, it was always behind his back. Drunk or sober, the guy was known to have a temper.

Alex walked back in. "Mind if I watch the game with you, buddy?" he asked, ruffling his son's hair as he always did. Valeriy just smiled. Soon enough, however, they both heard the keys rattling in the door, and at that sound, Valeriy jumped up and ran to the door. Ludmila opened it slowly, as to not whack him or knock him over (neither of them wanted THAT particular accident to happen again.)

"MAMA!"

"Hey, little man!" How are you!" She said, sweeping him up in her arms. "How's my little man? Were you good at day care?"

"Mama! You know what? Ivan built a big castle today."

"In the sand?"

"Yeah. And Anna, she went home sick. You know what? She had to go to the doctor."

Valeriy had learned to talk in complete sentences only a few months previously, but now it was like, sometimes he never shut up. Not that Alex minded that. He was a smart, young boy and hopefully would grow up to be a smart, successful young man. If he did grow up, that is.

Alex finally greeted his wife, and after the usual small talk about their respective days (His was the typical factory grind, hers was the typical anecdote about Dmitri Mazhkov being roaring drunk by noon again.) Then she got serious and said she had some alarming news.

"Tatyana is sick. I mean, not just sick, but really, really sick. She thought it was just ulcers, you know, stress from work, and she's been really tired... Turns out, they found out she has stomach cancer. They don't know if there is much they can do, its stage four."

Alex was saddened by this news, but not shocked. He had liked Tatyana. She and Ludmila worked together and were pretty close. Her husband, Mikhail, was a nice guy who Alex got along with and who seemed pretty cool, but if she was really that sick- They had a girl who was really not that much older than Valeriy. What would happen to him if he were to lose his mother? It was the fourth such person he knew who had received such news this year. He nodded, sympathetically, trying to think of what to say.

He glanced out the window, where twilight was setting in against the dark smokestacks of the Sverdlov FSE plant. Only one hour previously Alex had clocked out from there after logging his nine hours operating a forklift hauling containers of noxious crap. The spires of industry, darkening with the sunset, continually spewing filth into the atmosphere.

Cancer. The legacy of Dzerzhinsk, and the price of progress. This is what you get when your country never bothers with such burdensome things as environmental legislation. He remembered reading that the newly elected US government had recently decided to cut their existing environmental laws. Let them choke on their own smokestacks for a change, he thought. Or let some of those voters move here, before there is no longer a difference. It might be too late for Tatyana Ratmanova, just like it was already too late for their neighbor's boy Sascha, or for Ekaterina Volovskaya, or Anatoly, the 12 year old boy who used to live on the first floor, and ride his bike around the apartment complex and wisecrack with everyone he saw. They were gone now. Cancer. If only there was an escape for him and Ludmila, and Valeriy, if not to the US (which seemed to Alex like it was becoming more and more like their own country every day), then somewhere in their own country where clean living was possible. If only their dual income was enough to afford to get away, move somewhere else. But they were both paid much less here than they would have been if they lived in a more affluent part of the country, and with prices on everything rising steadily- it seemed like they had to stretch every last ruble.

"Listen, I have been thinking..." She said.

Uh oh, she was "thinking". This could either be an "I'm gonna make you change this, or give up that" or an "I have a great idea you may or may not like, but we're gonna do it anyway." Alex always got nervous when she said that. Turns out it was the latter, and the more she explained it, the more he actually got intrigued.

"Well, Boris thinks we may have a way to make some extra money on the side. We could always use the dough. You know, to help Valeriy, help us, and maybe someday get us out of this dump. Won't hurt to have a little extra cash for fun, at least. Anyway, Boris and I, we both know computer networks, I know about how to set up accounts on the internet, and he has some contacts in America, for routing money over here. We can set this up and get it going. You into it?"

"Well like what, exactly. I mean, what is this? What are you guys up to? Do you mean, you guys want to pull off some kind of internet scam?" Alex was skeptical. "I don't want to be involved in some shady crap..."

"It's not! I know a way to get American men to pay us money. We can set this up, and it's totally legit."

Alex frowned. "No drugs though. Count me right the fuck out if that's what you're thinking." Drugs were just one among the many other social ills that beset the grimy monument to Soviet industrial might that their city had always been. And of all the extracurricular ways he knew of that people made money, it was the one thing Alex wanted absolutely no part of.

"No. I'm thinking, something better. Something more...tantalizing." She said, her eyes flashing.

"Wait, you mean like internet porn? You and Boris aren't making dirty movies together without me, are you?" He chuckled sarcastically.

"You wanna do a threesome with me and Boris?" she said, smirking in that flirtatious way of hers.

"Well, that's kinky..."

"...That's the point."

"We shouldn't talk about this in front of, I mean, let's talk about this later." Alex said, nodding his head in his son's direction. Valeriy was back on the couch, avidly watching the skaters knock the puck around the ice. Alex's curiosity was piqued, to say the least. But the other thing that tickled him was the thought of his wife wanting to engage in hot sex (preferably not with Boris though) and filming it. He was unaware that she had such a voyeuristic streak in her. Of course, their lovemaking sessions were pretty passionate, but they had always been private. Was this really what she was thinking?

-2-

One evening, Luke Hollingworth was browsing the web, as he frequently did when he had nothing else really going on after work. There really wasn't much going on in this southern Washington hardscrabble town this time of year, so it passed the time. He sometimes dropped in at the Brews Taphouse bar a couple blocks away and shot pool with the old timers who frequented there. They were the typical crusty drunks who usually sat around and traded fishing stories, Vietnam stories, jabs about their ex-wives, and stories about how "Them Liberals are Ruining Our Country." Not the most interesting company, but at least it was something to do to get out of the house when it was dark and January. (January being a particularly dreary month in this part of the country.)

His buddy Jared was probably just sitting at home watching TV and drinking a few beers, because that was just what Jared did. Practically every day. He would go over there sometimes, and every time was the same: Drink beer, sit in front of the TV; smoke some herb. Never up for going anywhere or doing anything else. In fact, since it had been legalized, if anything, Jared had gotten even worse, and had become even more introverted. But, Luke didn't know that many people he could just call up on a whim anymore, as most everyone else had started families and he only saw them on occasion. There were upsides to being single, though times could get lonely. The way he saw it, he could have any woman he wanted since he wasn't tied down.

Except of course, he really couldn't. There weren't many options for singles in this town. There was the strip club, which he visited on rare occasions, but of course those girls didn't date, unless you had really good expensive designer drugs (stronger than the now-legal weed) or endless money. Luke had neither- he wasn't into the former (not even the now-legal weed, in fact) and didn't earn enough to qualify for the latter.

But there was the internet. The perfect place to indulge in whatever sexual fantasy you wanted, unless of course you wanted real time. But on the web, it seemed like there were tons of girls who seemed to want to indulge in his deepest, darkest sexual fantasies- if only he lived where they were at; in Las Vegas, New York, Los Angeles, or closer to Seattle which was still nearly four hours away. So he was browsing some online personals one day, and saw an ad that caught his attention:

"Kinky Domme Mistress looking for submissive partner to own and use for my pleasure -29."

He clicked on the ad, suddenly excited. Her message read, "I am a strong, beautiful Dominant woman, hardworking, professional and strict. I have many kinks. A personal favorite of mine is to compassionately introduce males to the delights of the BDSM world and turn them into my little B**ches. There's a whole new world out there regardless of your level!"

Perfect! Luke was intrigued right away. Of all his wild fantasies, the one that appealed to him the most- that got him into the most feverish lusts- was the thought of a beautiful woman teasing, tormenting, and doing all kinds of degrading things to him. Tying him down, taking him by force, whipping him, degrading him as he lay naked at her feet. Of course, the likelihood of ever finding a willing female partner to indulge in these fantasies was slim- at least in this area. But he had never given up, always checking the personal ads, hoping to meet the one- the female dominatrix of his dreams. Could this be it? Her post did not have a photo, and Luke knew, from experience on many dating sites, that for every woman who advertised as a dominant female, there were dozens, perhaps hundreds, of kinky guys like him who worshipped their every move. Would he have a chance with this girl? And would there even be a chance she would really be what he was looking for?

Luke didn't reply right away. He wanted to take the time to compose the perfect intro letter. And he couldn't do that, he realized, if he was as hot and excited as he was right now.

He went to his favorite BDSM porn website and watched as a gorgeous blonde in a tiny leather skirt ordered a crossdressing "man", dressed in frilly lace and wearing a slutty blond wig, to suck a big black strap-on while flogging him across the back with a cat o-nine tails. How he would love to be in that sissy's place. But maybe, soon, he would!

-3-

Alex trudged out the front door of the apartment complex and down the snowy street toward the bus stop. It was a typical grim wintery day. Three inches of snow had fallen on Sunday, but three days later, it had turned to grey ice, the kind that you couldn't shovel since it had thawed and refroze and stuck to the sidewalk, making even a short walk a treacherous exercise in Falling On Your Ass Avoidance. At least Ludmila and Valeriy had the car today and didn't have to deal with this crap, he thought.

He saw a gaunt woman shuffle by, bandages covering huge festering sores on her exposed arms, and the vacuous expression of the terminally intoxicated. If it wasn't the cancers, the tumors, or the perpetual lung problems that killed people, it was the drugs. In some parts of town there were whole apartment blocks full of people shooting cheap homemade desomorphine. Or "Krokodil" as it was called, because it was cheap and available, it was instantly addictive, and because it caused scaly abscesses that looked like the skin of a krokodil. However, to Alex, these addicts looked more like your basic zombies. The problem with this nightmare drug was, from the moment you first inject it, your odds of survival over the next two to three years were 10%, and even if you did survive, you would have likely suffered permanent physical damage, and brain damage on top of that. Kanye's lyrics were wrong. That that don't kill you don't make you stronger, it merely tries again and again until it slowly but inexorably destroys you.

In a way, he could almost understand. Desomorphine made you feel good, helped you escape the grim joyless industrial reality of life in the city, if only for a little while. Before it killed you in the end, even quicker than the polluted skies and poisoned water. It was, however, not the path either Alex or Ludmila would have chosen. There was no dignity in addiction, especially not when the drug turned people into real life walking dead- complete with open rotting sores.

His work shift was another uneventful grinding day of operating a forklift and loading big shipping containers. Uneventful was good though. When you were driving a forklift full of containers filled with noxious crap that could be potentially lethal if you ever dropped your load, you WANTED the job to be uneventful. Still a job was a job. He thought about Ludmila's plan for "extra cash on the side." Maybe it would allow them to both quit their jobs and move somewhere and find something better, or maybe it would just bring in a little extra, to pay for things like Valeriy's first pair of ice skates. Even a little bit would help, he thought. Or maybe they would strike it rich and be able to live like the oligarchs driving the big fancy cars over in Saint Petersburg, although Alex thought that last possibility was highly unlikely.

Once he discovered that Ludmila was not, in fact, secretly making pornographic movies with her co-worker, (though a dark suspicious part of him still sometimes privately wondered about that) Alex had enthusiastically decided to support her plan. Besides, she looked so dang hot when he had photographed her in that tiny pink skirt.

And when the first check had cleared the bank and was safely into their joint account yesterday, it almost made the prospect of another grey industrial day full of bullshit seem bearable. He and Ludmila had planned to actually celebrate that night after work at Boris's apartment.

-4-

Luke Hollingsworth hadn't really expected much of a reply to his initial e-mail. He had carefully written to this girl the previous night, a brief message about himself, his experience, and what he thought he was seeking. In his experience, most of the people behind these ads, if they answered you at all, would simply sent you a link to an adult dating site with instructions to sign up. And the site would, of course, invariably turn out to have almost no female members at all.

So naturally, when he got home from work and checked his e-mail, he was delighted to see a reply.

"Hello there!" She began.

"Thanks for the message. I implore you not to be scared, be confident and I promise you a wonderful life experience with me if we happen to go along with each other. Just to add for your better understanding, My number 1 reason at wanting a slave, is to frequently engage in sexual practices with my slave through this kinky, erotic and fetish sexual displays which will only be about 'the female dominance over the male.' I am a very strict and dominant mistress, but most times "loving and caring" I am looking for a slave for active participation and meeting a slave to own, use as my personal property. both his heart, body and soul. I am a perfect trainer, and I intend to give my slave the basic needs that makes him a real sub. I practice what I preach and answer to no man nor do I depend on one. When I allow you to serve, it's not because I need you to, it's because I enjoy having you do it. Your humiliation and your response when I sexually tease you amuses me. Once I grab hold of you, you should be ready to be molded & shaped the way I want you...

... I do want you to know that I'm not a professional. I'm looking for a personal slave, we can share a mutual understanding and I have a feeling that we would build something out of our respective wants/desire. Practically, I've been into kinky lifestyle and BDSM in general since I started my adult life. I enjoy fetish sex and the whole idea of having a man under my leash, I live for female supremacy and I do my best to practice what I preach. However, I've only trained two slaves over the years because I always make sure the relationship is long term and I realized that there is a vast range of activities and intensities that are possible in bondage play and fetish sex. Moreover, I need you to know that OBEDIENCE and ABSOLUTE SUBMISSION from you will be really appreciated if you want me to be a good Mistress to you..."